


Fatti non foste a viver come bruti

by literallybina



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 02:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallybina/pseuds/literallybina
Summary: "What are you reading today, angel?"“Dante’s Divina Commedia, my dear”Crowley groaned in distaste. “The fourteenth century. Ugh” he sat higher up on the couch, resuming his lounging position. “Nothing happened, and everywhere the smell of disease. Truly Hell.”





	Fatti non foste a viver come bruti

Metaphysically speaking, angels and demons do not possess a heart, it’s one of the many characteristics that comes with existing as an ethereal (or occult) being. If an angel or a demon do in fact have one, it is because it has been included in the officially issued human- like body.

When Aziraphale had been given his (along with a rather dangerous- looking weapon) to physically guard the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden (from what, exactly, he hasn’t been told), he immediately felt the full effect of what humans would later name concern, apprehension, doubt, and guilt- he did, after all, give without a second thought to the humans his God-given blade and then blatantly lied to the Almighty about it.

As he stood on the wall, robe whipping in the wind as he nervously wrung his hand together and squinted into the sun to see, he fleetingly wondered if Adam and Eve’s hearts were beating as fast as his was. So fast, he didn’t notice the serpent slithering behind him until he morphed into a human form and stretched his raven wings, making his heart do its first somersault. Despite the startle, Aziraphale had went along with the demon’s attempt at striking up a conversation, surprising himself with the earnest answers he gave. Perhaps the Almighty had given him a flaming sword to kill the demons and prevent the humans from being temped into disobedience. Perhaps Crawly was right, and indeed they had made terrible mistakes on each part. Was he supposed to fight him at that very moment? Could he ever follow in the footsteps of his colleagues and just…smite?

Then the first raindrops in history hit his head, and Aziraphale’s wing lifted to shelter the demon.

………

Punishment came in the form of what he would later see as what it was, exile on Earth as Heaven’s agent, indefinitely. Aziraphale, however, didn’t waver. He roamed the known kingdoms at the Lord’s will, blindly putting his faith in Her. His body reacted to the deep sense of guilt and shame in executing certain orders, but he always managed to put it away, deep down where even the Almighty herself couldn’t find it.

Earth was, at first, such a lonely place to be.

He followed with utter fascination the humans, marveling at their discoveries and accomplishments, such as their relationship with food. Somewhere in time, for a restricted group of people, food became more than simple nourishment. It was a ritual, an experiment in conviviality and luxury, a way to enjoy each moment of their regrettably short lives. Aziraphale took up on that, guiltily thinking that Earth was starting to become his own Heaven and ate to his heart’s content. Occasionally, he’d still felt that familiar pang of loneliness, but it was quickly washed down by that clever human drink that made his body feel light.

“What have you got? Give me a jug of whatever you think is drinkable”

Aziraphale’s head perked up from the board game he was trying to figure out. Millennia later, he still didn’t know what drove him to engage small talk with the demon, but, looking at him lounging on their sofa, asleep while the angel read, he was thankful to whatever it was.

His blood-pumping muscle started to beat with unprecedented fervor each step he took, as he recalled their first good-natured banter, the demon’s outrage regarding the infamous Flood’s (ineffably necessary) casualties, his admission to an act of kindness toward the sacrificial son of God (whose brief interactions with angels had been disappointing and, in his mother’s case, painfully awkward- thanks to Gabriel’s utter incapacity at being even remotely sympathetic).

“Still a demon, then?”

He knew it was a silly question, and fully expected Craw-Crowley’s outburst, but it didn’t hurt to ask. In a moment of unprompted boldness, Aziraphale forgot himself and made a tempting offer to him, quickly regaining his holiness, but not before Crowley could look at him with such intensity and amusement that Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat (it hadn’t been, however, the only one to do so). He didn’t feel judged as he did with his colleagues, rather, he felt a strong sense of kinship with the demon, whom he had trusted enough to share his unbridled fondness for earthly matters.

……….

“What are you reading today, angel?”

Aziraphale hid an affectionate smile behind his book. Questions, one of the many reasons why he had to -ironically- thank the Almighty for putting both on each other’s way. Over the years, he had grown to seriously consider each of his questions, no matter how trivial it might seem, and it had ultimately helped him to improve, not being afraid of the questions that he himself wanted to ask. And there were many of them. So many, he had started to look for the answers in humanity, in their books, in which he found the same innocent wonder he saw in Crowley.

“Dante’s Divina Commedia, my dear”

Crowley groaned in distaste. “The fourteenth century. Ugh” he sat higher up on the couch, resuming his lounging position. “Nothing happened, and everywhere the smell of disease. Truly Hell.”

“You’re quite right, my dear. Although I must say, I really enjoy Dante, his views of Heaven and Hell are fascinating, along with his frankly revolutionary idea of a balanced reward or punishment. Sure, he was a bit of a heavy smoker, but I’m glad his book, his opera, turned out so well”

“Why don’t you read something for me, angel?”

Aziraphale carefully picked up the book -an 1861 leather bound first edition illustrated by Gustave Doré, such a nice fellow- and took the spot on the couch beside Crowley, softly grunting when he plopped down, adjusting to the seat. He lightly leafed through the book with his gloved hands, feeling the demon’s gaze on him, until he found the canto he was looking for, one of his personal favorites.

Crowley loved when he read for him. It was, in his modest opinion, the closest to an ideal Heaven he’ll ever be. It made his old heart quiver. He didn’t have his glasses on, not when they were alone. He found that looking at Aziraphale without filters made his world seem brighter and alive, and his eyes gently roamed his face, sighing in content, proudly stating that he knew each and every feature of his human form as well as he knew his angelic form.

He was so lost, he almost didn’t hear what was, in Aziraphale’s opinion, the crucial verse in the canto.

“Consider your origin; you were not born to live like brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge” the angel paused, and took off his reading glasses (the ones he thought made him look nifty) “I must say, this is the verse always makes me think of you.”

“Oh. Pray tell, angel”

“Well, uh” he scooted a tad closer to Crowley, who just looked at him and smirked “See, Dante here is saying that humans were made to pursue knowledge and become virtuous. Like it was the Almighty’s Plan all along. I think… yes, I rather think you did the right thing in the Garden, after all” he cleared his throat a bit, feeling his heart beat out so much it made his neck and cheeks feel on fire. Was his body faulty? Crowley’s unreadable expression didn’t exactly help, so Aziraphale felt the need to clarify (or justify?) himself.

“We may not know if we’re right or… or wrong, but we can, wonder. I have come to be rather… grateful of your, ah, mistake, back then. If you hadn’t tempted Eve and Adam into knowledge, I wouldn’t have all this” he gestured all around him, at the tomes listening quietly to his rambling “I wouldn’t have what I like most about humanity”

“Beside crêpes” Crowley interjected, a smirk dancing on his lips. Aziraphale chuckled.

“Yes, dear. Beside crêpes. What I want to say is… I was wrong about you for so many centuries. It took humans for me to comprehend that it wasn’t your being a demon that made you tempt the humans into eating that apple. I mean, you could’ve told them to kill each other or something, yet you told them to question authority. That’s what I was so mad about, in the beginning.”

The serpentine eyes of his companion looked at him expectantly, prompting him to continue.

“Perhaps it was all part of Her Divine Plan. And, even if it wasn’t, I’m happy about how it all turned out. Armageddon and all.” he smiled bashfully, the burning sensation spreading up to his ears.

“You do like me, then” the demon joked, reassuring a bit the blushing angel.

He wouldn’t say (not yet, it would take another couple of years and a meddling witch to make him spill the beans) that he took immense pride in being the source of what Aziraphale loved the most, and how much he loved the foolish principality for finally voicing his own thoughts and not someone else’s.

That day in the Garden, he knew who would be on apple tree duty all too well, and made his move based on the observations he’d made about the angel. Hidden in the trees and bushes prior to his biblical heist, Crowley saw how other angels behaved towards him and how Aziraphale reacted to them, as if they provoked him immense distaste. Aziraphale, the angel who patiently taught Adam and Eve all about the Garden and its other inhabitants, telling them to respect all the other creatures, both the fauna and the flora. Aziraphale, the lonesome angel with the kindest spirit of all, the true inspiration of the later mythology about angels (Crowley may or may not have had a role in that, but he swears all he did was to have a word with the artists, suggest to them an angel should have blond hair and a beautiful smile), the most rebel of all obedient servants of the Almighty.

“I’m glad, too, angel. That you are nothing alike the pricks that follow blindly and viciously. That God, no matter how pissed off at me, had decided for you to be my best friend.” a pause for Crowley to gather the courage necessary “Or more.”

“Like… like what humans call a soulmate?” Aziraphale was sure, at this point, that his body was sabotaging him, almost letting escape the heart from its constraints.

“Maybe. Whatever we wish to call it”

“Fraternizing?” the angel sarcastically suggested, immensely relieved to be able to make fun of one of the most difficult times in his existence, eliciting a laugh from Crowley.

Aziraphale let the conversation slip into more frivolous arguments, his heart a little bit lighter, and focused on things that were important to him. Like the glass of scotch Crowley had poured him before sitting once again next to him. Like the memories they were sharing, those millennia spent chasing each other that no power in the whole of creation could take away from them. Like the sense of belonging with a kindred spirit.

Like Crowley’s hand snaking closer to his.

Like his own hand taking his and not letting it go.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for the lovely Good Omens fandom, hope you like it!  
> Comments are very much appreciated <3
> 
> A special thanks to the lovely akosmia, thank you for being the first to read all of my (scarce) work and for encouraging me <3


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